


Freely, They Stood Who Stood, And Fell Who Fell

by GoodGollyMissYollie (Yollie183)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angels, Body Horror, Christianity, Explicit Language, Fallen Angels, Historical References, Homophobic Language, Immortality, M/M, Religious Discussion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Content, Violence, Wings, but quite mild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-01-23 11:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18548848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yollie183/pseuds/GoodGollyMissYollie
Summary: "“Hi,” the man said, awkwardly shaking his box of cereal, “can’t, uh… can’t decide?”“No,” Bucky replied. “I think I’ll just get Froot Loops.”The stranger smiled. “I suppose that’s not the worst choice… if you’re an actual child.”Bucky allowed himself a chuckle. If this stranger only knew the truth…“I think I’ve seen you around?” Bucky phrased it as a question.“Yeah,” the man nodded, “we do seem to keep crossing paths. I’m Steve, by the way.”“Bucky.” They shook hands.“I should get going,” Steve said. “It was nice to meet you, Bucky.”“Likewise,” Bucky watched Steve walk away down the aisle, turning his name and face over in his mind. if Bucky hadn’t known any better, he’d call their meeting providence."Bucky is a Fallen angel.Steve is human.Nat plays a game.





	1. Wrath

**Author's Note:**

> The Game:  
> The mortal must commit each of the Seven Deadly Sins.  
> In any order.  
> For a point to be given, the mortal must cause harm to themselves or another while under the influence of the sin.
> 
> Title from Paradise Lost by John Milton

_And now crawling I position myself_

_Below your broken wings_

_I lift your feathered left arm_

_Where you hide your heart from me_

_I never noticed it was swollen_

_With a touch of brutal pain_

_I never knew a heart could live inside_

_The rust from all your rain_

_All your rain._

_\- Blue October_

~

 

Bucky was drinking a blue slushie the first time he saw Steve Rogers.

 

He was walking along a mostly deserted sidewalk, the clubs and bars spewing out the early morning’s last stragglers, stumbling drunkenly to bed and hangovers. Three A.M. was a bizarre time, and Bucky liked being out in the frosty air, gloved hand folded around his sugary drink. Through New York’s light pollution, Bucky could make out the stars above him, could hear the sleepless city-sounds. It was peaceful, almost. He loved the city, loved the smells and tastes and sights and sounds, loved the fact that it never really got dark or quiet.

Mostly, Bucky loved the fact that he could walk around at three in the morning, drinking a blue slushie, without anyone considering it strange.

He turned a corner, passing the entrance to Luke’s Bar, one of his own personal favorites, and saw Luke saying goodbye to a couple at the door.

They were so perfectly out of place on that damp and dirty street, that Bucky had to do a double-take. Both were blonde and beautiful. The woman tall and thin, a pink dress flaring around her knees, the man tall and chiseled, a blue sweater hugging impressively broad shoulders.

The man looked up at him as Bucky passed, generous mouth quirking in a brief smile.

Bucky had seen many, many beautiful people in his lifetime, and, everything considered, this man barely made the top fifty, but something (blue eyes, laugh lines, stubble, pink lips) made Bucky’s breath catch in his chest.

The moment was brief, then it was over, the Mattel couple had passed, Luke had turned the sign on his door to ‘closed’, and Bucky just barely kept himself from looking back as he walked away.

 

~

 

“Ugh,” Nat sighed. “He’s a goody-two-shoes.”

“Which makes this all the easier,” Bucky replied, rolling his shoulders back. “It’s the repressed ones that take the first opportunity to cut loose.”

“He’s heterosexual,” Nat pointed out, taking a sip of her bright red cocktail.

“Not everything is about sex, Natalia.”

“With humans, most things are.”

Bucky found it hard to argue Nat’s point. Sex and money seemed to be humanity’s two greatest weaknesses, in Bucky’s experience. And he had had a lot of experience.

Nevertheless, he slipped off his barstool and approached the dark-haired man they had been discussing. They had their gifts, and Natalia was able to _read_ people. She was never wrong, and so Bucky took a different approach than usual.

He walked past the man, taking care to bump into him.

“Shit! So sorry, bro,” Bucky said as the man opened his mouth indignantly. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” the man said, “no worries.”

“Cool.” Bucky smiled and made to walk off, then turned back. “Sorry to be a nuisance, but can I just say that you have awesome taste in music?”

The man looked down at his shirt, which bore the logo for an obscure hip-hop artist Bucky couldn’t stand. “Thanks, bro.”

Bucky clapped him on the shoulder, about to make some more inane no-homo small talk, when he looked up and straight into a pair of familiar blue eyes.

The blonde man from outside Luke’s, more than a week ago now.

He nodded a greeting at Bucky, who realized he was staring. He ignored the man next to him, stepping away. Not toward the blonde though, even as he returned the nod.

He felt Nat’s eyes on him as he entered the bathroom. The dingy space was badly lit and smelled of ammonia and the sharper acrid stench of meth. Humans didn’t recognize half of what surrounded them, which was in equal parts annoying and a relief.

Bucky glanced briefly at himself in the grimy mirror above the sink, then turned away to empty his bladder. Nat would be waiting for him at the bar, a taunt on her red lips for dropping the ball on their target.

Somehow though, Bucky couldn’t care less. Their game had started losing its appeal to him in recent years.

He indulged Nat’s whims because they really only had each other, but Bucky was world-weary and cold, craving respite of the kind not in the cards for creatures like them.

He’d been right. Nat met him with a snide comment when he rejoined her at the bar. She felt their evening has been wasted in losing their target. He apologized and tipped back his drink.

“I’m going home,” he told Nat.

 

Home was an old brownstone in Red Hook. He’d put some effort into decorating the place, but it still looked like an old library that just happened to have a gigantic television stuck on the wall. Bucky went to the kitchen, the soft grey and red color scheme reminiscent of the diners of a few decades ago. He pulled a bag of Doritos from the pantry and crunched his way to his overstuffed couch. Netflix was one of the better inventions of the current decade, in his opinion. He started an episode of Stranger Things and relaxed back into the leather upholstery.

Time passed, inexorably, as it always did, and Bucky made his way through both seasons of Stranger Things, several movies and a half dozen novels before a lack of food drove him from his house and into the world.

Dressed in jeans that were practically falling apart at the seams and a black hoodie, unshaven and grumpy, he chose a larger store, intending to get enough groceries to last him at least another month of exile.

The wheels of the shopping cart squeaked faintly on the linoleum floors as he steered down aisle after aisle, piling more junk food into the cart than was wise.

The cereal aisle gave Bucky pause, as he debated what kind of Cheerios he wanted. The weighed the pros and cons of Original versus Honey in his mind, barely noticing the footsteps coming toward him until the other shopper leaned past him to grab a box of Honey Cheerios. Bucky turned and looked, for the third time, into a pair of blue eyes.

“Hi,” the man said, awkwardly shaking his box of cereal, “can’t, uh… can’t decide?”

“No,” Bucky replied. “I think I’ll just get Froot Loops.”

The stranger smiled. “I suppose that’s not the worst choice… if you’re an actual child.”

Bucky allowed himself a chuckle. If this stranger only knew the truth…

“I think I’ve seen you around?” Bucky phrased it as a question.

“Yeah,” the man nodded, “we do seem to keep crossing paths. I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Bucky.” They shook hands.

“I should get going,” Steve said. “It was nice to meet you, Bucky.”

“Likewise,” Bucky watched Steve walk away down the aisle, turning his name and face over in his mind. if Bucky hadn’t known any better, he’d call their meeting providence.

 

Bucky had fallen in love with humans twice before.

A man who was slaughtered at much too young an age in the Rhineland Massacres.

A woman who died during the Great Fire of London.

 

It was after the fire, when they had boarded a ship for France, that Natalia began the Game. The rules were simple. Each chose a target for the other, then they had forty-two days in which to tempt them into as many of the Seven Cardinal Sins as possible.

The Game was undeniably cruel, but it assuaged Nat’s contempt for humanity, while Bucky slowly grew derisive of their pettiness and self-interest. It did have its perks though, as the phrase ‘ _let them eat cake_ ’, uttered by a child-queen, put him ahead of Nat for the first time in a century.

They had travelled the world, inflicting themselves upon generations of humans, but never finding any of their own kind. It weighed on Nat more than Bucky. He had made peace with their lot millennia ago.

He had watched as humans invented gods and became monsters, waiting endlessly for something he wasn’t sure would ever happen.

And now, he watched blue-eyed Steve walk away, and he felt a swooping, as if flying.

 

~

 

“I’ve found you a new target,” Natalia was waiting in his kitchen when he got home.

“Who?” Bucky asked automatically, putting away his purchases as Nat watched.

“One of your neighbors,” she told him. “New to the neighborhood. He moved in while you were being a hermit.”

She gave him the address and he told her he’d see what he could do as he poured himself a bowl of Froot Loops.

 

 ~

 

Bucky was less than enthused as he ambled down the sidewalk toward his target’s house, a brownstone much like his own, three days later.

He kept a look out for whoever it was supposed to be, Nat only having told him it was a man. He paused across the street from the house, pulling out his phone.

 

_Bucky: What does he look like?_

He pressed send, staring balefully at the screen as he willed a reply to come through.

 

“Hey, Bucky, right?”

Bucky jolted at the sound of his name, looking up to see Steve walking towards him.

“Hi, Steve,” Bucky murmured, shaking Steve’s hand when he came close enough. “You live around here?”

“Yep,” Steve smiled and pointed across the street, right at the house Bucky had been scoping out. Bucky felt his heart sink. Steve must be the target Nat had picked out for him. “How about you?”

“A few streets over.”

“So what brings you here?”

“I was on my way to meet a friend,” Bucky lied effortlessly, “but she just cancelled.” He waved his phone as evidence.

“Bummer,” Steve said.

“Kind of,” Bucky agreed, half turning away, “see you around, Stevie.”

He’d barely taken a step in the direction he’d come from when Steve spoke.

“Wait! Since you’re free, and you’re here, wanna join me for lunch?”

Bucky raised a brow. “You’re inviting a stranger into your home?”

“You’re not a stranger,” Steve looked sheepish. “And yes, I am.”

“I could be an axe murderer, Steve.”

“You are definitely not carrying an axe in those pants, Buck.”

Bucky felt his cheeks heat. “Fair. But you really shouldn’t be so trusting. The next person you invite over might really be an axe murderer.”

Steve chuckled. “Do you know a lot about axe murderers?”

“Now whatever would give you that idea?” Bucky smiled.

Steve’s house was nice, cozy. Done in shades of brown and blue.

“This is nice,” Bucky commented about a framed sketch on one of the walls. It showed Times Square as if you were looking up at it from ground level.

“Thanks,” Steve murmured.

“You’re the artist?” Bucky asked, turning to face him.

Steve nodded. “It pays the bills.”

“Can I see more?” Bucky asked impetuously, realizing too late that he didn’t know Steve at all and asking may be too personal.

But Steve gave a bashful little grin and pulled a black leather portfolio from one of the built-in shelves.

Bucky flipped through sketches, watercolor prints, oil prints and the occasional cartoon.

“Steve, this is…” he trailed off as he turned a page to see a portrait of a classic fallen angel, wings haggard and wilting, arms bound in chains. The expression on the angel’s face was exquisite, each pencil stroke bleeding emotion. “Gorgeous,” he finished his sentence. “You are very talented. Like a young Michelangelo.”

Steve chuckled at that. “I will take that as a compliment. Thanks.”

Bucky looked at the rest of the portfolio while Steve made them each a huge sandwich and poured two glasses of milk.

“You didn’t have any food sensitivities, did you?” Steve asked belatedly, but Bucky shook his head.

“Nope. This looks really good, Steve, thanks.”

They ate in companionable silence at the kitchen table and for a moment Bucky was able to forget why he was there in the first place.

“So,” Bucky ventured after he had stowed his plate in the dishwasher, “your girlfriend doesn’t live with you?”

Steve looked up with a crease between his eyebrows. “My girlfriend?”

“You were with her the first time I saw you, outside Luke’s bar.”

“Oh, you mean Sharon! No, she’s not my girlfriend. I kinda dated her cousin, so that would just be weird.”

“Yes, that would be weird,” Bucky agreed.

“What about you?” Steve asked.

“What about me?” Bucky hedged.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No,” Bucky answered.

“What about the redhead from the club?”

“Hell, no. Nat’s my sister.”

“You look nothing alike,” Steve commented.

“We were adopted,” Bucky said, waving away Steve’s awkward expression.

“Have you lived in Brooklyn your whole life?”

“Not really,” Bucky replied. “We’ve moved around a lot, but I love it here, so we keep ending up back here. How ‘bout you?”

“Born and raised,” Steve said with a sense of pride. “I moved away for college, but I came back when Ma died. Bought this place after selling her old house.”

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Bucky offered and Steve smiled sadly.

“Thanks, Buck.”

There was a beat of silence, then Bucky’s phone chimed. He pulled it from his pocket to see a text from Nat.

 

_Bucky: What does he look like?_

_Natalia: Golden and blonde. Perfect shoulder to waist ratio. I would start with Rage if I were you…_

“Something wrong?” Steve’s voice made Bucky realize he’d been scowling down at his phone for too long.

“I have to go, I’m sorry,” Bucky told him, smoothing out his expression. “Thank you for lunch, Stevie.”

“You’re welcome, Buck. Anytime.”

Bucky smiled at that, leaving Steve at his door with a pat on the shoulder. At the bottom of the steps, a realization made him turn back.

“Steve! Hey, I never got your number.”

 

~

 

“So?” Nat questioned, delicately sipping from her mug.

The sun slanted in through the windows of the little coffeehouse, burnishing her hair with copper.

Bucky pushed his muffin around on his plate, not meeting her eyes.

“I had lunch with him yesterday.”

Nat nodded, smiling slightly.

“Why should I start with wrath?” Bucky asked.

“He seems to have a bit of a temper.”

“Hm.” Bucky drained his cup in a quick motion. “Maybe Pride to follow?”

Nat inclined her head. “Sloth might be the hardest.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“You always do,” Nat murmured, taking a bite of Bucky’s neglected muffin.

 

~

 

When Bucky got home after coffee with Nat, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his few contacts. He stopped at Steve’s name. Then he paused. He had no idea what to send him.

_‘Hey, can you please commit the seven cardinal sins so I can win a game against Nat, who happens to be a fallen angel, just like me.’_

No, that was definitely not going to go over well.

He ambled into his kitchen for a glass of water, then started doing the dishes he’d been neglecting. When he was done, he decided to put in a load of laundry, then dusted the bookshelves. By the time he was finished, the sun had set and his stomach was growling, so he made himself a grilled cheese, then did those dishes as well.

Finally, sitting on the couch, he picked up his phone again.

 

_Hey, it’s Bucky. How are you?_

 

He sighed and deleted what he typed.

 

_Hey, it’s Bucky. You know, the guy who is not an axe murderer._

Without giving himself time to second-guess anything, he hit send.

He waited a full ten seconds, then tossed his phone to the other side of the couch and turned on Netflix to Queer Eye.

 

Two episodes later, his phone chimed. He took his time to pause the show, then fished it out of the crease between the cushions.

 

_Steve: Hey Buck! Ya know, that’s not at all suspicious. You never did say what you do for a living?_

Bucky smiled at the screen. Then realized he didn’t have a real answer to give. He and Nat usually claimed old money when they were asked, but that somehow sounded too pretentious to tell Steve. He bit his lip.

 

_Bucky: I’m kind of between jobs right now. You never really said what you did either, aside from art._

_Steve: I illustrate kids books._

Bucky’s smile returned at that, and he pulled his laptop closer with one hand while he typed a reply with the other. Finding the books Steve had illustrated took only a quick google search, then a few more clicks to order them all with overnight delivery.

They texted for a while longer, then Steve said goodnight and Bucky leaned back against the couch cushions with a sigh. He liked Steve. He liked Steve a lot.

 

~

 

_“IF YOU DO NOT CHOOSE, YOU, TOO,_ **WILL FALL** _!”_

Bucky startled from his dream at the sound of a text alert from his phone.

 

_Nat: Meet me for breakfast._

He groaned and rubbed one hand over his face, but swung his legs out of bed all the same. For a second, he felt a sense of vertigo, as if falling, and braced one hand on the bedframe. The metal creaked in protest and after a moment he let go.

Bucky shook his head, as if to clear it. Perhaps a spot of orthostatic hypotension, he told himself, nothing strange, really. With that thought for comfort, Bucky showered and dressed, then dragged himself to Natalia’s favorite coffee shop.

He slumped into the chair opposite her, barely quirking his lips at the flirtatious server who rushed over to take his order.

“You seem cheerful,” Nat remarked dryly.

Bucky grunted in reply.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Another grunt, this time accompanied by shake of his head.

“Ah,” Nat nodded and turned her attention to the server who was putting coffee and pastries on their table.

Bucky looked down and saw the name _Emmy_ written on his napkin, next to a phone number. He passed it to Natalia, who smiled thinly.

“Why am I here?” Bucky asked after a fortifying sip of coffee.

“To have breakfast with me, of course.”

“And?”

Nat smirked. “And to tell me about Tall, Blonde and Handsome.”

“He’s just that,” Bucky mumbled through a bite of croissant.

“What more?”

Bucky watched Nat take a neat bite of danish.

“He’s intelligent, artistic. Catholic.”

That got a simper from Nat. “This may be too easy.”

Bucky shrugged and drank more coffee.

Natalia eyed him shrewdly. “Or will it?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t be a smartass, Nat.”

“Is he another Joseph, Buchiel?”

Bucky stood up so fast his chair clattered to the floor behind him. The coffee shop’s lights flickered for a moment as he glared down at Nat.

“Do not speak his name,” he hissed at her. She didn’t flinch, but her eyes cast briefly away from his furious gaze and that was enough to tell him he had scared her.

“Bucky –,” she started, but he cut her off with a gesture, then turned and stalked out of the building, aware of several stares following him, whispers about his little scene.

 

It was only after he got home that he realized his cheeks were wet. He hadn’t thought about Joseph in years, but the pain had not lessened.

 

Later that afternoon, a text alert pulled him out of his reverie. For a moment he thought about ignoring it, figuring it was Natalia, but his curiosity got the better of him and he pulled the device out of his pocket.

The message was from Steve. A selfie of the man himself cuddled with a large puppy, with the text _Wanna join us for dinner?_

Bucky smiled at his phone, the trusting idiot on the screen too irresistible

 

_Bucky: I’d love to._

_Steve: Great, see you at 6!_

Six p.m. rolled around just as Bucky pressed Steve’s doorbell.

There was a muffled bark, followed by hurried footsteps, then the door opened to reveal Steve’s smiling face.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

A soft bark.

Bucky held out the bottle of wine he’d brought from his own collection, then hunched down to pet the excited dog.

“What’s his name?”

“Redwing. He belongs to a friend of mine; I’m actually just babysitting.”

Bucky feigned indignation. “Oh, so you lured me here under false pretenses.”

“Steve gave a little shrug. “Had to think of something.”

“All ya had to do was ask, Stevie,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve blushed, turning away, but not quite hiding his smile.

Bucky followed Steve into the kitchen, Redwing on his heels. “Smells great,” he commented, moving toward the range, but Steve shooed him.

“It’s just pasta, nothin’ fancy.”

“In my experience fancy doesn’t always equal tasty.”

“You must have a lot of experience?”

“Some,” Bucky conceded. “Nat and I, we travel a lot, try to live as fully as possible.”

Steve gave a wistful smile at that. “I’ve been to France and Germany, but there’s a million places I still wanna go.”

Bucky nodded, taking the glass of wine Steve handed him. He watched Steve take a sip from his own glass, lips plush and pink, then lowered his eyes.

They talked easily, comfortably, during dinner, then dessert, and when Steve suggested a movie Bucky nodded and curled up on Steve’s couch to watch _Mary Poppins Returns_ together.

“I love Lin-Manuel Miranda,” Steve murmured to him, and Bucky felt an irrational rush of jealousy.

“He is pretty great,” Bucky agreed, rational though prevailing after a beat.

“Pretty eyes,” Steve continued.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Though not as pretty as yours.”

Bucky looked up sharply at Steve, his mouth opened to protest, but the look on Steve’s face silenced him. Undefended and honest, holding Bucky’s gaze unflinchingly.

“Buck?” It was a question and Bucky nodded his answer.

Steve leaned in, close, his breath ghosting over Bucky’s mouth. Then he closed the distance between them in a kiss. Chaste at first, then more urgent, Steve licking at Bucky’s bottom lip, begging for entrance.

Bucky opened for him, sighing and wrapping his hands around Steve’s shoulders.

Steve’s hands combed through Bucky’s hair as his tongue curled against Bucky’s.

Bucky let out a breathy moan and let Steve guide him backwards to lie on the couch, his legs spreading to let Steve between them.

A breathless eternity passed, before Steve broke the kiss to gasp in air like a drowning man.

“I really like you, Buck,” he panted, and Bucky smiled.

“I really like you, too, Stevie.”

“I think we should slow down, though,” Steve murmured.

Bucky nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Yeah,” Steve slid the tip of his nose over Bucky’s cheek, then kissed him again, sharp and hungry. “Slow…”

“Slow…” Bucky echoed, toying with the hem of Steve’s shirt. “As slow as you want, Steve.”

Then Steve was kissing him, deeply, filthily, hands everywhere and searching. Bucky melted into Steve’s heat, burning alive.

He wanted more, rocking his hips up against Steve’s, needy little sounds escaping his throat.

Then another sound interrupted them.

A soft bark followed by a whine, and the humans turned their heads in unison to see Redwing, leash between his teeth, large eyes pleading as only a puppy’s could.

 

Steve and Redwing walked Bucky back to his house, conversation between them quiet and easy.

At his door, Bucky turned, took Steve’s face in his hands and gave him a soft, lingering kiss.

Steve smiled as they pulled apart. “G’night, Bucky.”

“Sleep well, Steve,” Bucky replied, giving Redwing one last ear-scratch, before he let himself inside his house.

 

~

 

Over the next several days Bucky was plagued by nightmares. Old memories resurfaced in vivid detail to wake him, sweating and cold, each night.

He didn’t tell Nat, nor did he speak to Steve, until a knock at his door broke him from a troubled nap on his couch.

He groaned and got up, rubbing a hand over his eyes. His hair was mussed, falling in chocolate waves to his bare shoulders, sweatpants riding low on his hips.

He swung the door open without bothering to look through the peephole, expecting to see Natalia.

Except it was Steve standing on the other side, his eyes widening as he looked Bucky up and down, lingering for a moment on his naked chest.

“Am I interrupting something?” Steve asked, trying for playful, but Bucky could see the confusion, even some hurt, in his eyes.

“Just a solitary nap,” Bucky assured him, stepping aside to let Steve into his house.

“Oh, okay.” Steve stepped past Bucky. “I haven’t heard from you, and I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d come say hi.”

“Hi,” Bucky said with a small smile.

“Hi,” Steve replied, still looking unsure.

Bucky leaned in and pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “Sorry I’ve been a stranger. I’ve just gotten stuck in my own head a little.”

Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Anything I did?”

“No,” Bucky said empathetically. “No, of course not. I am so sorry, Stevie.”

Steve’s shoulders seemed to relax a bit, and Bucky realized what an asshole he’d been the past few days, especially when Steve smiled at him.

As if rehearsed, they simultaneously leaned toward each other and kissed, soft and slow.

“Can I try to make it up to you with food?” Bucky asked when they parted for breath.

“You can,” Steve told him.

“Pizza or Indian?”

“Indian.”

Steve wandered around Bucky’s living room as Bucky placed a generous order with his favorite restaurant.

He paused in front of a shelf of religious texts, including several copies of the Bible, the Quran, the Tanakh, among others. Steve’s dexterous fingers pulled out a beautiful old leather bound Bible. Bucky smiled at the look on Steve’s face, while he ended the call.

“These illustrations are incredible,” Steve murmured, carefully turning the pages.

“Rubens,” Bucky told him.

“Yeah, very much like his style,” Steve nodded.

“No,” Bucky corrected gently. “Rubens himself illustrated that Bible by hand.”

“What?” Steve looked up.

“The Bible you’re holding. It was illustrated by Peter Paul Rubens.”

“I’m holding a five-hundred-year old Bible?” Steve squeaked disbelievingly.

“Yes,” Bucky confirmed, amused at Steve’s expression.

“This belongs in a museum!”

Bucky chuckled. “It was a gift; I’m not getting rid of it.”

“But you just have it out on your bookshelf?”

“As opposed to the kitchen cupboard?” Bucky was now openly laughing at the indignation on Steve’s face. “It’s just a book, Stevie,” he said with a gentle grin.

“You’re insane,” Steve said on a breath.

“Nope,” Bucky shook his head, “I’m just not that bothered by human history.”

  
“Insane,” Steve repeated, returning the Bible to its shelf.

Bucky smiled fondly and pressed his lips to Steve’s. “You’re adorable.”

“And you’re still shirtless.”

“Does that bother you?” Bucky took Steve’s hands in his, placing one on his hip, the other on his chest, over his heart.

Steve sucked in a sharp breath, shaking his head. “It’s very distracting.”

Bucky smirked and kissed Steve again, then again, and again, each deeper and hungrier than the last.

Finally, they were interrupted by the arrival of their food, and Bucky excused himself for a second to put on a shirt before they ate.

The food was good, the company even better and Bucky felt a rare sense of contentment as their meal progressed. It was short-lived, however. Natalia let herself into the house, pausing for a moment as both men looked up at her in surprise, then, moving closer as if it were nothing strange to find Bucky with a guest, helped herself to a piece of naan bread.

“Natalia,” Bucky said, “what are you doing here?”

“I came to invite you out with me, Bucky.” Her answer was casual, but her eyes were sharp and dark. “You weren’t answering your phone. I see why, now.” Her gaze flickered to Steve.

“Steve,” Bucky murmured, “meet my sister, Natalia. Nat, this is Steve.”

“Nice to meet you, Natalia,” Steve said politely, holding out a hand.

Nat gave an almost feral grin as she shook hands with Steve, and Bucky saw Steve swallow uncomfortably.

“So, let’s go out, the three of us.” Nat’s tone made the suggestion sound more like a command, and Bucky narrowed his eyes at her, before turning to his guest.

“We don’t have to go, Steve, it’s up to you.”

Steve looked from Nat to Bucky, then he shrugged. “We could go. I don’t mind.”

“Luke’s?” Bucky asked Nat, but she shook her head.

“I was thinking we visit Heaven.”

 

~

 

Bucky hated Heaven, not just for its name, or the fact that the owner called himself Angel, but also the way the music was always a little too loud and the bartender’s a little too blind to who they served or what was put into drinks after they were paid.

He walked into the club close behind Steve, who was following on Nat’s heels. It was dark, music and strobe lights pulsing in time to each other, bodies pressed together in heated motion. By instinct, Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand, an attempt for neither of them to get lost in the crowd. Steve squeezed Bucky’s fingers, before lacing them with his own, and Bucky felt a flutter in his chest.

Nat led them to a table, secluded in a corner of the club, and they took their seats, Steve shifting a little closer to Bucky, pressing their shoulders together. Nat’s eyes followed the movement with interest.

“Drinks, anyone?” A waiter had arrived at their table, speaking loudly to be heard over the music.

Bucky ordered a beer, and Steve did the same, while Nat asked for a vodka martini.

There was no use in having a conversation, but Nat leaned forward and said something into Steve’s ear. He frowned at her, motioning, then turned his head so she could repeat herself next to his other ear. This time Bucky caught the words.

“So how did you meet my brother?”

Steve gave her a shortened version of their first meeting, then leaned back again.

Their drinks finally came, already opened, and Bucky grabbed Steve’s from his hand before he could drink, sniffing then tasting it. When Steve gave him a confused look, Bucky gently put his fingers under Steve’s chin so he could turn his head to speak into his good ear.

“They might have spiked it.”

Steve frowned at that, but didn’t get a chance to say anything as Nat grabbed his hand and begged him to dance with her. Bucky stayed at the table to watch their drinks, but he found his attention captured by Steve. The blonde man was by no means a great dancer, but his body moved with a fluid grace nonetheless. A warrior’s grace, Bucky thought, movements deliberate and powerful.

Bucky was enamored. And so, so fucked.

 

The night went well, until it didn’t. Bucky and Steve were dancing, slower than the beat of the music, closer than they should have been, when Bucky felt Steve’s attention abruptly shift. His eyes were narrowed over Bucky’s shoulder, focused on the bar, where a man and a young girl were sitting.

“Shit,” Bucky cursed, as Steve pulled out of his arms. He followed Steve to the bar, where he quickly took the spiked drink out of the girl’s hand, leaning down to yell in her ear what the man had done, while Steve turned on the guy, who looked just drunk enough to try and start trouble. The girl looked terrified, even younger under her artfully applied make-up than Bucky had guessed at first, leaning into Bucky’s side as the man who was with her got to his feet. He was several inches shorter than Steve, but broad and bulky, his hands balled into fists. Steve did not back down, stretching himself to his full height to tower over the shorter man, face rigid with anger. Bucky realized two things in one flash of insight.

Steve definitely got too angry, too fast. And Natalia must have known that, hence inviting them to this hellhole in the first place.

The shorter man lifted both hands, and shoved at Steve, who barely shifted before raising one arm.

The girl turned her face into Bucky’s chest, gripping his shirt in her white knuckled fists.

Before Steve could actually land the punch, two bouncers appeared next to them. The two men were separated and shown out of the club, and Bucky followed after leaving the girl in the care of her friends.

He found Steve and the man, standing two feet apart, in the alley outside the club. Steve had the man cornered, demanding he hand over whatever he had left of the substance he used to spike the girl’s drink.

“Go to hell, asshole,” the man sneered at Steve, whose hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists.

“Give me the drug,” Steve demanded hotly, moving even closer to the other man, intentionally using his size to physically intimidate him.

“Steve,” Bucky said quietly, “let’s go home, okay?”

“Yeah, Stevie,” the man sneered. “Listen to your little faggot girlfriend.”

Steve snapped, his fist connecting to the man’s jaw just as Bucky cried out, “Steve, don’t!”

As the man’s head snapped back, a sudden, searing pain tore through Bucky.

He fell to his knees, screaming through gritted teeth. Steve’s anger seemed to evaporate as he turned and rushed toward Bucky. The man took his change to get out of dodge as Steve knelt beside Bucky.

“Buck, Bucky, what’s wrong? What happened?”

The ache slowly dissipated, and Bucky breathed raggedly through his nose, gripping Steve’s hand when he offered it.

“Don’t know,” he gasped. “It felt like, like…” he trailed off. It had felt like having his wings ripped from his body, only not nearly as painful.

Steve’s other hand rubbed up and down Bucky’s spine, as he breathed through the last of the pain, until he felt alright to stand. He let Steve help him up, then pressed his face into his chest, winding his arms around Steve’s slim waist.

“You okay?” Steve whispered.

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded against Steve’s pecs, then tightened his arms around him. “Just wanna breathe for a moment.”

So Steve wrapped him in his arms and Bucky breathed him in, not thinking about the pain, or what had caused it, or how he’d made Steve commit a Cardinal Sin.  

 

~

~

~


	2. Lust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I take a LOT of liberties with angel lore and the entire concept of heaven, hell, angels and demons.

 

_Last dance, first kiss_   
_Your touch my bliss_   
_Beauty always comes with dark thoughts_

_I wish I had an angel_   
_For one moment of love_   
_I wish I had your angel_   
_Your Virgin Mary undone_   
_I'm in love with my lust_   
_Burning angel wings to dust_   
_I wish I had your angel tonight_

 

 _\- Nightwish_  
 

~

Natalia found them outside Heaven, a few minutes later.

Bucky knew her well enough to know the concern on her face was hiding tentative glee.

“Everything okay, boys?”

“Yes,” Bucky said sharply, even as Steve opened his mouth. “But I want to go home now.”

Nat called an Uber, and they took Steve home first. Bucky walked Steve to his door, kissing him swiftly.

“Goodnight, Stevie.”

“Night, Bucky. Call me tomorrow?”

“I will. Promise.”

 

~

 

Nat came with Bucky to his house, her demeanor akin to that of a child on their birthday.

“Did he do it?!” she asked as soon as Bucky shut the front door behind them.

“Yes.” Bucky’s voice was flat. “Then something weird happened.”

“Weird?” Nat questioned, her eyes narrowing at Bucky.

“I felt… pain… pain like I haven’t felt since… since the Fall. It struck me to my knees, Nat.”

Nat’s eyes widened. “Maybe it was just some heartburn? Or a muscle spasm? Something human.”

“But we aren’t human, Nat!” Bucky turned in a half circle, hand making a flat motion to emphasize his words. “We don’t get sick. We don’t get heartburn, or muscle spasms, or anything else. This was something different.”

“Divine or –.”

“Or Infernal? I don’t know.”

“Do you think it has something to do with Steve? Could he be one of us?”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think so. He can’t be.”

“The other man then?”

“That piece of shit? No.”

Nat chewed her bottom lip. “What if it was psychosomatic?”

Bucky’s mind latched onto the idea like a lifeline. “Yeah. Yeah, it could have been. I’m emotionally attached to Steve. It could have been a reaction to seeing him in that position.”

Nat nodded. As flimsy as the idea was, they both felt a small comfort at it.

 

~

 

As promised, Bucky called Steve the next day. He suggested a movie and dinner and Steve accepted.

Over dinner, Steve asked about Bucky’s episode.

“Just a bad muscle spasm,” Bucky lied, eyes dropping to his plate before meeting Steve’s again. “I’m fine now.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Steve smiled at him, popping another fry into his mouth.

The rest of dinner was uneventful, the movie underwhelming.

On their way to Steve’s house, Bucky checked the time on his phone and realized he had several texts.

 

_Nat: What did you mean emotionally attached?_

_Nat: Are you sleeping with him?_

_Nat: Are you in love with him?_

_Nat: Keeping secrets is bad for you_

_Bucky: Curiosity killed the Nat._

Bucky looked up from typing the message to realize Steve was staring at him, a crooked smile on his face.

“What?” he asked, pocketing his device.

“You’re cute when you frown.”

“I’m cute all the time,” Bucky declared.

“Well, can’t argue with that,” Steve nodded.

Bucky leaned his shoulder gently against Steve’s, smiling.

 

At Steve’s front door, Bucky leaned in for a goodnight kiss, but Steve’s arms circled Bucky’s waist.

“Come inside?”

Bucky hesitated for only a second before nodding. He let Steve take his hand and lead him inside, then upstairs. Steve’s bedroom was nice. Dark blue curtains and bedspread, wooden bedframe, blue armchair covered in clothes. There was even more artwork on the walls, but Bucky had no time to admire any of it, as Steve pulled him into a searing kiss. Bucky melted against him, parting his lips and gripping Steve’s sides with trembling hands.

Clothes came off in a hurry, breaths panting into each other’s mouths.

Bucky landed on the bed on his back, pulling Steve on top of him, hands searching and urging.

“Buck?” Steve gasped, and Bucky nodded eagerly, spreading his legs to let Steve open him up. Steve took his time despite Bucky’s pleas for him to hurry, and he was a trembling mess by the time Steve rolled a condom on. The slick slide took both their breaths away, and for a moment Steve leaned down to rest his forehead against Bucky’s as he breathed through the overwhelming sensation.

Then, Bucky gripped Steve tightly and flipped them over on the bed, so he was on top. Steve huffed out a laugh that quickly turned into a moan as Bucky rolled his hips. He set a deliciously slow pace and let his head tip back in ecstasy.

 

_It happened as Bucky’s hips stuttered, as he neared his peak, beautiful face open in rapture above Steve. Suddenly the bedroom lights flickered and for a second behind Bucky, Steve saw a pair of wings unfurl. Dark as midnight, they spanned the room, feathered and powerful, they were there one second in the blinking of the bedside lamp, then gone._

_The momentary fever dream pushed Steve over the edge, and he arched up into Bucky with a shout._

 

After, Bucky curled up against Steve, warm and content, eyelids heavy. Steve rubbed his back in lazy circles, then his hand paused over Bucky’s shoulder blades, one calloused fingertip tracing first one line, then another, on either side of Bucky’s spine.

“Scars?”

“Mm,” Bucky nodded against Steve’s collarbone.

Steve shifted suddenly and Bucky plopped down on the bed on his stomach as Steve sat up.

“They look like…” Steve trailed off and Bucky’s brain came back online with a nasty chill down his spine. “Bucky, what are these scars from?”

The scars – two jagged parallel lines on either side of his spine – were from the moment his Father ripped off his wings as he fell to earth.

To Steve, he lied. “Motorcycle accident.”

Steve’s fingers continued to trace first one line, then the other. “Is that the truth?”

Bucky looked up at Steve’s tone. “Why do you think it wouldn’t be?”

“They’re symmetrical.”

“Not really.” Bucky lied again.

“I did a whole study on angels in art school. Especially their anatomy. And I drew a whole bunch of fallen angels with scars just like these.”

“Steve -.”

“And just now, when we had sex, when you came, the lights flickered. And I thought I saw you with _wings._ Angel wings. Black angel wings.”

“What?” Bucky breathed. Steve had seen his wings? That was impossible. He had lost his wings millennia ago, with only scars to show what he’d once been. “You must have been imagining things, Stevie,” he said gently. “Maybe a bit of low blood sugar?”

Steve looked unconvinced. “What’s your full name?”

“James Barnes,” Bucky gave the fake name he always used in America.

“When were you born?”

“Steve, it’s almost midnight, let’s just go to sleep, please?”

“When were you born, Bucky?”

“1986.”

“What day?”

“The tenth of March. Steve, I’m not an angel.” _Anymore,_ he left unsaid.

“How exactly did you get the scars?”

“Do you hear yourself right now?” Bucky’s voice rose despite trying to stay calm. “You don’t actually think I’m not human!?”

Steve rubbed a hand over his eyes. “How did you get the scars.”

“An accident, I told you!”

“What kind of accident?”

“Rode my motorcycle into a tree.”

“How are the scars so perfectly symmetrical?!”

With a shock Bucky realized Steve was near tears, naked chest heaving, face red.

“Steve… Stevie,” he reached out to soothe the other man, but Steve slapped his hands away.

“What are you?!” Steve was fully shouting now, scrambling off the bed, holding only a sheet over his nakedness.

“Steve,” Bucky said as calmly as he possibly could. “Just sit down, okay? I’m just me, Bucky.”

Steve shook his head, drawing small sharp breaths through his teeth.

“Steve, you’re going to hyperventilate.” Bucky stood up, gripping Steve’s shoulders. “You need to take a deep breath for me, please? Just breathe with me.”

He took Steve’s hand, pressing one to each of their chests. “Breathe with me, Stevie, please.”

Steve finally nodded, his breathing evening out to match Bucky’s. After a long while, Bucky sat him on the bed and hurried to the bathroom to get a glass of water, which Steve drank in long sips.

“You okay?” Bucky asked when Steve handed him the glass back.

Steve nodded. “I still want to know, Bucky.”

“Know what, Steve?” Bucky was terrified now.

“The truth. I want to know what you are!”

“Nothing, Steve. I’m not anything, okay.”

“That’s bullshit, Buck.”

Bucky looked at Steve for a long moment. His heart gave a sharp ache. “I should leave,” he said. “And I don’t think we should see each other again.”

“Bucky, no!”

But Bucky nodded, turning away to get dressed. “I think it’s better this way, okay? You obviously have some issues, and I don’t think I can deal with that right now.” It killed him to turn this on Steve, to make it his fault, but Bucky couldn’t see any other way. He couldn’t tell a mortal what he was, who knows what Heaven might bring down on Steve for knowing such a truth.

Steve stayed frozen on his bed as Bucky left.

 

~

 

Once back in his own living room, Bucky grabbed the nearest object he could reach – an empty Minecraft coffee mug – and hurled it at the wall. It shattered into hundreds of pieces that jingled down onto the hardwood floor.

“Fuck!” he yelled, then turned and struck the wall with his fist. Once, twice, three times, until his knuckles were slightly reddened.

“Fuck.” This time the word was a whisper.

This had never happened to him. No human had ever correctly guessed what he was. Demon, incubus, monster. Many had guessed and guessed wrong.

Yet Steve had… Steve had said he’d seen Bucky’s wings.

There was no way that was possible. Bucky’s wings had been torn from his incorporeal form, pure energy ripped from pure energy, taken away forever.

Steve had described Bucky’s wings the way they had appeared on the rare occasions before the Fall that Bucky had had to take physical form. An angel from the lower echelons, Bucky’s physical shape was that of a man, taller and broader than any living human, with enormous black-feathered wings.

When he fell, he assumed the shape of a regular mortal man, with two scars down his back to remind him of all he lost.

And now Steve had touched him, touched him and seen _Buchiel_.

Seen and known, Bucky now struggled in agony.

 

~

 

Three days later, Natalia showed up at his house.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

Curled up on his couch, Bucky lifted his arm to show her his phone, screen dead.

“The charger’s in my bedroom.”

“And you’re somehow unable to leave the couch?” Nat raised an eyebrow.

Bucky nodded, burrowing deeper into his fluffy gray blanket.

“Did Steve dump you?”

“I left him.”

Nat sat down by Bucky’s feet.

“Why?”

Bucky swallowed heavily. “He knows, Nat.”

“About the game?”

Bucky shook his head. “Not about the game, Nat.”

She paused, mouth half-open to say something. She snapped her jaw shut with an audible click. “About… what we are?”

“Yes.”

“Is he like us?” There was a well-concealed grain of hope in her voice, undetectable to anyone but Bucky.

“No.”

She sighed, slow and shaky. “You sure? How else would he know?”

“He… he saw my wings. Or so he said. Freaked out when he saw my scars. I tried to make him think he was being irrational, but I don’t know if I did a good enough job.”

“What do you mean, he saw your wings?”

Bucky shrugged, sitting up. “He said he had a vision of them. Described them like they were in physical form.”

Nat shook her head, like she was trying to clear it. “Are you really certain he isn’t like us?”

“I’m certain.”

“Could he be something else?”

Bucky frowned at Nat. “What _else_? There is nothing else. We’re the only monsters in the world’s closet, you know that.”

“Something new?” Nat suggested.

“No. No, Steve’s human. Whatever has been going on between us, that’s all me. I just can’t seem to figure out what the fuck it is.”

“Could Father-,” Nat started.

“No, Natalia. He washed his hands of us. Forever.”

“But, Bucky…” Natalia whispered.

A quick shake of Bucky’s head. “Why would He turn His attention to any of us after millennia of isolation?”

“Our brother then?”

Bucky considered for a moment. “He’s trapped in Hell, Nat. I don’t see how he could have escaped imprisonment. Or why he would waste time and energy fucking with me of all angels. I doubt he even knew of my existence before the Fall. Or since, for that matter.”

“I think you should call Steve.”

Bucky glared at Nat. “I just told you that Steve has nothing to do with this.”

“Yet all this started only after you met him, and both incidents happened in his presence. What were you doing when he saw your wings?”

“Fucking,” Bucky snapped crassly.

For a long while Nat didn’t speak. She got up and went to his kitchen. Bucky curled back up on the couch as he listened to her making tea.

“Nephilim.”

Bucky sat bolt upright at the sound of Nat’s voice. He looked at her where she was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a dripping teabag.

“What?”

“What if Steve is a Nephilim?”

“Nat, you know damn well that angels can’t procreate.”

“I can’t, and you can’t, but we’ve never met any others of our kind. What if some can? Angels from the other choirs who also Fell.”

“Natalia,” Bucky tried his best to keep any trace of sympathy from his voice. “I don’t think so.”

Natasha flung the teabag aside. “You aren’t omniscient, Buchiel! You aren’t the last goddamned authority on every single thing!” she screamed at him, color high on her cheeks.

Bucky didn’t answer, waiting for Nat to calm herself with deep breaths.

“At least call Steve,” her tone was pleading. “We put our cards on the table. Maybe he knows something, anything.”

Bucky met Nat’s gaze, searching for a long moment, before nodding.

 

~

 

It took Bucky two days to work up the courage to speak to Steve. And then all he could manage was a text.

 

_Bucky: I’m sorry. Can we talk? Please?_

It was feeble, which is why Bucky was surprised when Steve answered only a couple of hours later.

 

_Steve: Only if you are prepared to tell the truth._

Bucky swallowed heavily.

 

_Bucky: Can you come over for lunch tomorrow?_

_Steve: Ok_

Bucky called Nat to let her know, then asked her if he could speak to Steve alone.

“What are you gonna say to him?”

Bucky huffed a breath. “I’ll tell him the truth, like you said. And if this blows up in my face, I’ll blame you.”

“It won’t. Bucky, I know this is somehow related to him.”

Bucky ended the call after that, then decided he needed to clean his house if he wanted to have someone over for lunch. His week of moping had resulted in the accelerated entropy of his living environment. First, he took a shower, then he set about making his house presentable. It took the better part of the day, then he made a trip to get food that wasn’t popcorn and chocolate milk, which was what he had been living off of.

 

The next day arrived bleak and humid, and Bucky woke from a nightmare he couldn’t recall to a splitting headache. For a moment all he could do was lie in bed, motionless, focused on the pain throbbing behind his eyes.

Unlike mortals, angels didn’t get headaches. Not even the Fallen.

“What the fuck?” The pain only worsened as he sat upright, and he pressed his fingers against his eyes. Squinting and wincing he checked the time on his phone, shocked to see it was almost midday. Steve would almost be on his way. Momentary inspiration struck, and he sent a rather garbled text begging Steve to bring him painkillers. Getting up and dressed made the pain worse, and walking down the stairs was a torture in and of itself. By the time the doorbell rang, Bucky could hardly pry his eyes open, even in the dim light of his living room, where the curtains were still drawn.

He stumbled blindly to the door and pulled it open without looking.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice sounded worried.

“Please tell me you brought painkillers?” Bucky’s tone was pleading as he shuffled back to his living room.

“Yeah,” Steve followed him, his voice and footsteps quiet. The rattle of a pill bottle made Bucky turn and make grabby-hands.

“How many of these do I take?”

“Depends,” Steve answered. “What’s wrong?”

“Headache. Bad headache.”

“Take two. And drink lots of water.”

“Thank you, Steve.” Bucky managed a couple of seconds of eye contact, and thought the extreme pressure in his skull seemed slightly more bearable while he was looking at Steve’s golden visage.

Steve waited until Bucky had swallowed the tablets with a full glass of water, before clearing his throat. “So.”

Bucky sat down at the kitchen table, motioning for Steve to do the same.

“So. What do you want to know?”

Steve considered him, toying with the pill bottle. “Will you tell me the truth?”

Bucky nodded painfully. “Yeah.”

“How old are you?”

It wasn’t the question Bucky was expecting, but he answered as best he could anyway. “Physically speaking, about seven thousand years.”

“And not physically?”

“Roughly thirteen-point-seven billion years, same as you.”

“Me?” Steve frowned.

“Your soul. Our souls, our life force, our essence, our spirits, whatever you want to call it. Everything was brought into existence in a single instant.”

“The Big Bang?” Steve’s frown was turning into a scowl.

“If that’s what you want to call it. He called everything forth, and from then it all existed. Atoms, particles. And us. Cut from His cloth. Made in His image. Our souls.”

“I thought He made the world in seven days.”

“Time is irrelevant to Him. A day could last a million years, and a million years could be only a moment.” Bucky’s headache was fading to a dull ache, and he rubbed his temples gratefully.

“So what are you?”

“I am…” Bucky looked at Steve, searching his face. “I am Fallen.”

“So you are an angel.” Steve’s voice held a note of triumph.

“No,” Bucky corrected. “I’m not. Not anymore. I Fell. I was cast out, banished to earth, just flesh and bone.”

“Your soul?”

Bucky shrugged. “For an angel, our souls are _us_. It’s all we are until we need a physical form for something. But when I fell, it’s as if my soul just… didn’t. It seems to not have followed me down. So now I’m less. Fallen.”

“Your wings? I saw your wings.”

Bucky looked down. “I felt them ripped from me. Felt my soul, my very being, cleaved in two. The scars are my reminder of what I lost.”

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” Steve whispered.

Bucky looked at him in shock. “You should be running for the door. Either I’m human and insane, or I’m Fallen and dangerous. Yet, here you sit, _sympathizing._ ”

“Would you hurt me?” Steve asked.

“No.”

“Then I’m not running.”

Bucky sighed. “Stubborn.”

“It’s one of my better qualities.” Steve gave a tiny smile.

“Is it my turn to ask questions?”

Steve made a go-ahead gesture.  
Bucky didn’t prevaricate. “What are you?”

“Me? I’m just a guy.” Steve seemed genuinely confused.

“No,” Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think you are. Ever since I met you, things have been weird. Dizzy spells, this headache, the episode outside the club, the wing-incident.”

“People get headaches all the time,” Steve told him.

“People do, Fallen don’t. I’ve never had a headache, or a cold, or even allergies.”

Steve lifted his shoulders. “I don’t know what to tell you, Buck. I’m just an ordinary guy. I was born in 1987. My mom was a nurse, dad a soldier. I’m nothin’ special.”

Bucky rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Natalia had hoped you were like us.”

“She’s an angel, too?”

“Fallen. Yes, she is. We’ve never met any others of our kind, it bothers her.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” And Steve looked it, too.

“S’okay,” Bucky muttered. “Got any more questions?”

“Only about a billion,” Steve said with a smile.

“Well, I have nothing but time,” Bucky told him.

 

~

 

“Steve, _Stevie_!” Bucky clawed at Steve’s back, head thrown back in bliss and Steve did something with his hips that made Bucky see stars.

Steve moaned against Bucky’s throat, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses against his scorching skin. Bucky couldn’t last any longer, muscles tightening as he came, moaning Steve’s name. Steve’s eyes widened, gaze traveling from one end of the room to the other. Even in his intoxicated state, Bucky realized what Steve was seeing. Bucky closed his eyes, concentrating, and for a second he could almost feel the massive weight pulling at his back muscles, then Steve came with a shout and the moment was gone.

Bucky wrapped Steve in his arms and pressed lazy kisses to every inch of him he could reach. Steve chuckled.

“Feeling affectionate?”

“Mm-hmm,” Bucky hummed. “Only for you, Stevie.”

“So you don’t have a harem somewhere, hidden for a thousand years?”

“Nope,” Bucky shook his head, the action dragging his lips across Steve’s warm skin. “Haven’t had a partner since the nineteen-thirties.”

“Really?” Steve raised his eyebrows. “That long?”

Bucky nodded. “Really. My libido isn’t exactly comparable to mortals’. The attraction I feel toward you… I haven’t felt that way in centuries.”

Steve blushed, a vivid scarlet that reached all the way down to his bellybutton. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve never felt like this about anyone before.”

Bucky pressed his mouth to Steve’s in an urgent, fervent kiss.

 

~

 

Natalia let herself into Bucky’s house later that evening as Bucky and Steve were making towering sandwiches for themselves.

“Why do you even have a phone,” Nat griped, then stopped short as she took in the scene before her. Bucky, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Steve dressed in one of Bucky’s shirts and boxers.

“Hello,” Steve said politely.

“So.” Nat hopped onto the counter, helping herself to a piece of cheese from Bucky’s sandwich. “You two talked?”

“Yes,” Bucky nodded. He gave her a rundown of their conversation that afternoon.

Nat blinked, then looked down in subtle disappointment. “You’re really sure that you’re just a normal human?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded.

“But you knew what Bucky was?”

“Lucky guess,” Steve said. “I’d done a whole assignment of drawing angels in art school, especially fallen angels.”

“Most of the lore on us is wrong, you know.” Nat took a piece of tomato from Steve’s sandwich. “Eww, who puts ketchup on tomato?”

“Would you like a sandwich, Natalia?” Steve asked her instead of addressing her comment.

“No, thank you,” Nat drank some of Bucky’s milk.

Bucky just rolled his eyes. “So we’re back to where we started. Steve’s human, we’re Fallen. We have no idea why weird stuff is happening to me.”

“Or why it’s not happening to me, if Steve isn’t the cause,” Nat added.

“And no way of knowing if any other Fallen have been through the same thing.”

“Are you sure you’ve never met any other Fallen?” Steve asked.

“As sure as anything,” Bucky replied.

“What about angels who didn’t fall? Or demons?”

“Those of us who sided with our brother are locked in Hell with him. The others… we haven’t seen any sign of them since the Crucifixion.”

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘those who sided with your brother’?”

“When Lucifer rebelled,” Bucky told him, “some angels supported him, joined his cause. When the war came, they were cast into Hell, and locked in. Some of us, though… some of us didn’t choose a side. We were the ones who fell to earth. What you think of as a demon, would be an angel confined to Hell.”

Natalia looked sad for a moment. “While Michael and Lucifer fought, we remained neutral. We didn’t want war, didn’t want our family split apart. For not choosing Father, though, we were punished.”

“How many of you?” Steve asked.

“Thousands,” Nat said. “We fell like rain to earth.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I need to add tags, just let me know.


	3. Sloth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short, mostly to fit in with the theme of sloth. 
> 
> I'm sorry this took so long to post. I had a really busy time planning a trip overseas, and then actually having a vacation or the first time in a long time. 
> 
> Visit me on [tumblr](https://yollie183.tumblr.com/)

_I found you here, now please just stay for a while_   
_I can move on with you around_   
_I hand you my mortal life, but will it be forever?_   
_I'd do anything for a smile, holding you 'til our time is done_   
_We both know the day will come, but I don't want to leave you_   
  
_I see my vision burn, I feel my memories fade with time_   
_But I'm too young to worry (a melody, a memory, or just one picture)_   
  
_Seize the day or die regretting the time you lost_   
_It's empty and cold without you here, too many people to ache over_

 

_\- Avenged Sevenfold_

 

_~_

 

“What?!” Bucky exclaimed, “You seriously cannot expect us to keep playing the Game with Steve?!”

“Nothing weird has happened in a while.”

“Because he hasn’t been here in weeks!”

Nat bit down on her lip. “Do you miss him?”

Steve was on the West Coast, working with a new author whose books he might illustrate, and Bucky missed him like crazy.

He couldn’t straight up lie to Nat, so he nodded.

“That’s why you really don’t want to play, you’ve caught feelings.” Her tone was accusatory.

“You already know I have.”

“What is it you love so much about mortals?” she asked him.

“What is it you hate so much about them?”

Nat looked away, frowning, her gaze sweeping the coffee shop where they were having lunch.

“They’re selfish, destructive.”

“Yet they can be so selfless. They’ve built such great things.” Bucky countered.

Natalia’s frown deepened. She took a sip of coffee, staying silent.

Bucky’s phone buzzed. He picked it up to find a picture from Steve. A selfie of him in bed, hair mussed, smiling sleepily.

Bucky couldn’t keep the smile off his own face as he texted Steve.

When he looked up, Nat’s frown had turned into a scowl.

“Why not just try giving some mortals the benefit of the doubt?” he suggested as he paid their bill.

 

~

 

Steve returned from his trip on a rainy Sunday, and Bucky picked him up from the airport in his rarely-used car. A 1968 Mustang he’d bought brand new when it was first released.

They hugged and kissed at the terminal, and Bucky tugged Steve’s suitcase from his hand.

“Your flight okay?” he asked as they walked out of the building.

“It was fine. No screaming children like the flight out, so that was a bonus.”

Bucky smiled at that, leading Steve to his car.

Steve let out a low whistle. “She’s a beaut, Buck.”

“Thanks. I knew she’d be timeless when I bought her.”

“And when was that?” Steve asked, lifting a playful eyebrow.

“Nineteen sixty-eight.” It was freeing to be so honest with Steve.

“Fossil.” Steve murmured as he slid into the front seat.

“Me or the car?” Bucky asked, getting in behind the wheel.

Steve groaned. “I forgot your hearing is superhuman.”

“Consolation prizes,” Bucky told him, putting the car into gear.

At Steve’s house, Bucky made lunch. Tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches, which Steve scarfed down just in time to fall asleep with his head in Bucky’s lap, the TV set to reruns of Glee.

Bucky soaked in the moment, thirsty for the simple domesticity of it.

His fingers in Steve’s golden hair, the soft patter of rain against the windows. Bucky would gladly have stayed frozen like that for a hundred years.

When Steve woke up from his nap he demanded kisses, which Bucky gladly gave, then pulled Bucky off the couch and to his bedroom.

 

A long while later they emerged, sated and starving. Steve made dinner, which they ate while watching Rocky.

Bucky stayed the night, curled against Steve’s warm body, and if he had nightmares, they were mild and easily forgotten.

 

~

 

“Can I draw you?”

Steve asked the question over breakfast, and Bucky nearly stabbed himself with a forkful of egg.

“Draw me how?” he asked.

 

Which was how he found himself stark naked, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, in a patch of midmorning sun in Steve’s living room.

Steve sat at his desk, brow furrowed in concentration as his fingers adjusted their grip on a pencil.

The scratch of graphite on paper and their slow breathing were the only sounds in the room.

Bucky stayed statue-still for Steve, the sun warming his exposed skin. He had done this before, of course, posed nude for artists, but with Steve he felt almost… bashful. He let his eyes drift closed, relaxing his muscles. The silence was almost meditative, and Bucky let himself, his thoughts, drift.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice broke the peaceful quiet.

Bucky opened his eyes to see Steve standing over him, holding out a bottle of water.

“It’s been nearly four hours, Buck,” Steve told him as Bucky took the bottle and drank. “You need to move around a bit. It’s not good to sit so still for so long.”

Bucky smiled, even as he rolled his eyes at Steve. “I was a sniper in World War Two, staying still is something I am exceptional at.”

“Seventy years ago, maybe,” Steve shrugged, “but not today in my house.”

Bucky humored Steve, getting up and stretching, aware of Steve’s heated gaze on his body. It did feel good after being motionless for so long.

“Can I see the drawing?” Bucky asked, but Steve shook his head.

“It’s not finished yet.”

Bucky pouted in disappointment, and Steve kissed him.

“Hungry?”

“Starving.”

Bucky slid his fingers into Steve’s hair and deepened their kiss.

Lunch and Steve’s sketch were forgotten completely as the lovers lost themselves in each other.

 

~

 

Bucky stayed over another night, and spent another day lazing around with Steve, watching Downton Abbey. That evening, neither of them in the mood to cook, they ordered pizza.

In the kitchen, Steve was pouring them each a glass of soda when Bucky remarked: “We haven’t done a single productive thing since you got home, y’know.”

Steve stole a bite of Bucky’s pizza from his hand. “Probably because you haven’t worn a shirt since Sunday. Besides, I drew you.”

“Did you finish?”

“No…”

“Then it doesn’t count,” Bucky stated.

Steve shrugged, then leaned in to swiftly kiss Bucky’s lips.

“I would rather do nothing with you, than conquer the world alone.”

Bucky knew Steve meant it, because the moment the words left Steve’s lips, he was struck speechless with pain.

He doubled over, soda slipping from his fingers, glass shattering on the tiles.

Bucky gasped, bracing his hands on his knees as the agony like lightning tore through his bones. He grit his teeth against a scream, tears burning his eyes.

“Bucky?!” Steve’s voice, drowned out by the roar of Bucky’s blood in his own ears. “Bucky, are you… Buck? Buck, what’s- oh my God…”

Bucky collapsed forward onto all fours. He _heard_ more than felt the tearing of skin along his naked back. The cracking of bone being broken and knit together. A rustling. A soft _whoosh._

Shadows stretched out on either side of his agonized figure, black as ink. Bucky screamed then, throat burning with the force of it.

Like a stop-motion picture, the horrific scene collapsed in on itself.

A rustling. The cracking of bone breaking and knitting together, the terrible wet sound of flesh tearing and stitching together. The ache lingered in Bucky’s bones, along his spine, up to his shoulders. He gasped in air, hands clawing at the tile, until he noticed he was bleeding where the broken glass had cut his palms.

He was sobbing, he realized dimly. His legs gave way completely and he folded in on himself, pressing his tear-stained face into the crook of his elbow.

Long minutes passed, then he felt a soft touch to his arm.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice was careful, measured, but his breathing was rapid, his heartbeat audible to Bucky, hammering in his chest. “Buck, can you try to sit up?”

Bucky took several seconds to choke down more sobs, then sat up. He let his head hang forward, hair obscuring his face.

Steve took Bucky’s lacerated hands in his. “Fuck. Okay, you’re bleeding pretty bad. Can you stay right here for a sec? I’m just gonna get the first-aid kit, okay?”

Bucky nodded. He didn’t move until Steve came back, to help him to his feet and onto a stool, so he didn’t hurt himself any further on the broken glass. First Steve cleaned the floor, then he sat down opposite Bucky and picked out the shards of glass from his hands and forearms. He cleaned and bandaged the cuts, talking to Bucky in a low voice, narrating his actions as he went. Finally, as Steve secured the last bandage, Bucky found his voice.

“My back? Is it… is it…?”

“Your back is fine, just the scars.”

“But I felt it… _tearing open_.”

Steve swallowed loudly. “It healed itself. Even the blood vanished.”

Bucky rubbed at his eyes with two uninjured fingertips. “Did you see…?”

“Your wings,” Steve whispered. “I saw your wings, Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I missed anything I should have tagged, lemme know.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Comments are love <3
> 
> Unfortunately my life is a mess, so updates will be slow and sporadic. Please subscribe to get notifications when I update.  
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://yollie183.tumblr.com/) if you wanna scream at me to hurry up with the next chapter.


End file.
